Tearful and demanding that God send his angels
“To please minister to my sorrow”
However, no shape of a human angels came
Only 3 dogs with wagging tails so joyfully wanting to serve me.

Suddenly I laughed knowing that angels come unaware
And, God, knows my heart beyond comprehension.
Thus He sends his commissioned pups to love.
And, It causes me to cry, it causes me to know, it causes me to see that God truly does care.

So when you see a ferrel cat or dog wondering a lonely lonesome highway,
Then you must pick it up with love and knowing that ~
God sends the best human lovers He has.
They are simply cats and dogs that mother ~ God’s Lost people.
And, they travel frightening roads to find us.

The roads they follow are treacherously hot or cold.
But, nothing stops their mission.
They are sent by God to do a work.
We humans are their intentions and they bare many burdens.

They will not give up even under the cruelest reasons…
They are angels that we are unaware.

My little JoJoA White Wolf? This was a ghost seen from my late mothers back window of her home. I was outside and took the picture of this wolf thinking I saw her standing there. Instead it was a wolf’s face.

Like this:

One day a sad dog came to my door. There, I opened and my heart was torn because I wanted to take it inside, but instead, I closed the door. I shut the angel out. Years went by and I thought about my action. So, I cried. Thinking about how I could have done this to a poor creature and then asked why I did so. Oh, I made my excuses and there were many. Then many years later I came to realize that sometimes angels aren’t people. But they are lives sent by God who loves us and has met us where we are, and we shun His gifts. And, why people don’t respond to heart aches, not only our own, but of little critters is unanswerable. However, now knowing, God never fails when He sends the angels. So, today when the starving animal approaches your door, remember it is a gift and it was sent from Heaven. Maybe it is for the moment and maybe the dog or cat is there to ask you for food or water or for help finding a permanent shelter and a loving home. Perhaps, it is asking you for help to find it’s way home because it is lost. Just maybe … We can open our hearts and our doors to help in some little way.

“Darkness covered the room. At midnight, the chimes from the grandfather clock resounded a deep, “dong, dong, dong, and dong.”
“The clock didn’t awaken me. The chimes never do, but I always expect them, the others, that is. They’re, always, right on time. It’s their, time to come. I sense it. Like an odor, or breeze or an internal alarm that warns me.

Her mature voice shifts. It changes into a young girls. Under the covers, the seven year old hides. She says that she shivers in fear and dread while they, the male beings, occupy her bedroom.

“Maybe, they won’t notice, that I’m awake. They usually don’t, but one night, they might. What then? What should I do?” She asks.

I don’t know what to tell her. I’ve never had them visit. There are no solutions to help her. I wonder if she is being sexually assaulted? I listen, but there is no mention of touching or fondling, not even a kiss. So, I wait. My antenna will know the moment I should question.

Her eyes are huge. I see she is telling the truth.

“The beats of my heart will surely tell the black cloaked monks, I’m faking sleep.” She sighs and looks up at me with the saucer shaped eyes.

“They enter my bedroom, from out of the closet. Twelve, midnight, when the clock dongs, I know, they are coming. The leaves from the forest that surround our home have shimmering grey colors that seem to dance like stick indians on my bedroom walls. The images fervently sway in madness of movements. I know then, to expect, the friars. And, as certain, as fall follows summer, they will come. Three, of them, usually.” She pauses, then`

“Sometimes four, walk out of my closet from behind the doors.” She whispers with downcast eyes when she tells this story.

“They are extremely tall. They’re working doing, something. My bed covers over my head, cloak their activities. They will peer over my body, looking to see me sleeping. They don’t know everything. But, if I look at them, their red eyes stare. I can’t see a face. They tell me to, ‘shut up.’ Meaness. That’s all I can say. They’re no good.”

I look at her. Dumbfounded. Hopelessly, there is nothing, I can say. After the hypnosis session, she passed the polygraph, which she agreed to, and I don’t know how to help her. What can I say?

Standing up to leave my office, she adds on her way out ~

“Doctor, the last time they tried to visit, I give them this look. They no longer bother me. And, now, that I’ve got their look, they seldom pay me, social calls….”

She gave me a haunting stare that passed through me.

“Oh, by the way, doctor … you may want to get rid of the grand father clock in your hall. It keeps your children up. They can’t sleep after the gongs at midnight occur.”

What? I look at her, but she has shut the door. After a brief pause, I ran after her, but she was gone. Bewildered by her last comment, I was paralyzed. Fear overtook me, as I saw the same look on my son this morning.

While dreaming in the midst of a stormy night, booming lights from the electrical bolts slashed dashing across the walls of my bedroom. I hid my eyes from the frightening waring images made from the shadows.
Miserably, I disdained my life and I, thankfully, welcomed sleep. I hated everything that God gave me and the thunderstorm came to punish me. I was certain that His wrath deliberately chastised me. Surely the grim reaper stood close to my bed. I felt his ominousness cold breath. The rumbling thunder and magnetic energy surrounding my lying body, ushered me into a sleeping journey back into time..

When sound asleep, suddenly, I heard in the distance ~ “the sounds of war?” Bombs and the shaking of the tin shelter where I hid crammed with others, whom I didn’t know. Oddly, they knew me, and there we hid tightly pressed together.
“I must have travelled back in time?” I thought.

They spoke in a foreign language. It was Polish. Everything was gray there, including their battle worn faces. The wrinkles bore sad lines of desperation. Their bodies were almost skeletons. And, I wanted to run, but when I started to leap, they held me.
Then, screaming, “no! Let go of me! Please!” I escaped only to see armed men coming my way! I caught my breath. There, in the dark of the night I saw a sign which hung swaying in the freezing rain and blustering wind. The metal sign creaked “Warszawa, 1943.” I knew where I was… The horrors of death were everywhere. Bleakness and freezing weather, trapped innocent victims.
The enemy soldiers started to grab me, but ~
I prayed that God takes me somewhere else other than WWII, Poland.

So, He granted my wish.

Rolling in the dirt, in fear of The Nazi’s, I was thence transported somewhere else in times past. Here the air was humid and the smell of death and blood permeated everywhere. Flies, fleas and moans came from dying men were everywhere.

I heard, “help me. Please, won’t you help?”
A man lay there in the brush. He was in gray and I was in blue. By his side a rebel flag was standing next to his bloody broken body.

“Where are we?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” He puzzled at my daze. “Mississippi.” He looked at me as if I was mad and he had disdain on his face, even though he was dying.
So, I reached out to lift him away from the fighting as all good men do. It was then, that I noticed my skin was dark. I was a large Negro man. I, aghast, thought, I’m in trouble now. Here I am, “a colored man,” centered on a battlefield in The Civil War. They will kill me. I will die. Now, more panicked than ever, I surrendered to my fear. How then, my old life seemed kind and benign in comparison to Warsaw and Mississippi.

I petitioned God’s help. “Grant me my own life, once again.” Sobbing from the deepest part of my being, concluded that he did not grant my request.

Then He transported me, again. I found myself sitting on a piano bar singing loudly. There was a sign hanging across the wall of the smoke filled bar. It swayed back and forth as the room seemed to move erratically. The sign said, “Welcome Molly Brown.” The crowd applauded and I smiled, warningly. The spotlights were in my eyes. A second passed. I noticed the calendar displayed on the wall said, “4.15.1912.” Gasping. “I’m on the Titanic.The night it sinks.” I whispered with dread. I knew, soon these lives and Molly Browns would be recorded in history. They were unaware and I was petrified. The iceberg floats before us. It will sink this ship and most of the applauders will soon die. Mortified of knowing the fate, I froze.

If I could change the course of history in Warsaw, the battlefield in The South, and on The Titanic, I would. If there wasn’t any goodness within me, then my travels changed me. All three places taught lessons: thankfulness, empathy and compassion. “God, I know, I understand. I’ve been selfish and unappreciative of the mundane circumstances in my “pathetic” life. I’ve been blessed all along and so ignorant.

With the final confession, I awakened in my own skin. It was my room and correct time…
My worldly travels were enlightening and my lesson? i will not murmur, grumble nor whine ever again.